


all night long

by Authoress



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Collars, Crotch Stepping, Light Bondage, M/M, Verbal Humiliation, Yakuza AU, d/s dynamics, i think this is it, iwa-chaaaan paperwork is so borrrring, pure sin, there's so much dirty talking i have to cover my eyes im embarrasse, what is.....plot?, wouldn't u rather fuck instead??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 17:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5464733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authoress/pseuds/Authoress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t beg,” Iwaizumi growls.</p><p>“I never said you had to,” Oikawa points out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all night long

**Author's Note:**

> my third commission! there is.....a lot of sin. i actually had a lot of fun with this so i hope you all enjoy it as well!

 

Iwaizumi takes a drag from his cigarette, letting the wretched smoke claw its way down his throat, and exhales. If he lets his mind wander far enough, Iwaizumi could even make the wispy trail of white into a shape. Maybe a dog, or a falcon. Maybe a gun.

“Spit out that cancer stick, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa calls, strolling in through the bar’s door. “You know I hate it when the smell of ash and nicotine gets everywhere.”

Iwaizumi is tempted, just for a moment, to point out that Aoba Johsai is a smoking bar and also _technically_ open to the public, but he knows it’s a pointless exercise. The public never came into the bar known to be the territory of the Seijou syndicate, and no one ever disobeyed Oikawa. Those were the simple facts of life. Still, the flippant tone of voice and expectation that he would be obeyed without question irritated Iwaizumi, regardless of whether or not it was true.

“Don’t order me around like I’m some dog,” Iwaizumi growls as Oikawa settles comfortably at his left side, Matsukawa trailing in behind him and seating himself at Iwaizumi’s right. With an expert flick of his fingers, Matsukawa knocks the cigarette out of Iwaizumi’s hand, sending it flying through the air and landing elegantly in the ash tray. Iwaizumi scowls but tucks the rest of his pack in his coat.

“But you _do_ listen to what I say,” Oikawa points out cheerfully, “because I’m the boss. Really, though—you ought to be more like Mattsun. I’ll have to shorten your leash if you keep sassing me.” The dim light of the bar is steel to the flint in Oikawa’s eyes, sparking dangerously. Iwaizumi knows better than to fan the tiny flame.

“Who’s shortening whose leash, moron?” Iwaizumi scoffs, smacking the back of Oikawa’s head none too gently as he stands, taking his gin and tonic with him. “As if I’m not stuck doing all your dirty work already. How much worse can you make my life, at this point?”

Oikawa squawks indignantly. “Now Iwa-chan is just talking out of his ass,” he challenges, spinning around on the bar stool. He props his elbows up on his knees and cradles his chin thoughtfully. His body language screams dominance and lazy power, the ability to spring at a moment’s notice. “I go out all the time on jobs. Are you saying I’m scared to shed a little blood, darling?” He’s baiting Iwaizumi.

“Please,” Iwaizumi counters with a roll of his eyes. “As if killing or threatening people could be considered ‘dirty work’ to you. You relish in that. I’m talking about paperwork.” He takes a long sip of his drink as he watches Oikawa’s face fall.

“Ugh, Iwa-chan is no fun as usual,” Oikawa complains, kicking his legs childishly. “Bringing up such dull topics as _paperwork_. Why don’t you ever play along?” The last part is a whine.

“Cut him some slack,” Matsukawa mollifies Oikawa, coming to Iwaizumi’s rescue. “He works harder than the rest of us.” Oikawa sniffs.

Matsukawa’s smile becomes devious. “Of course, he could just dump the work on one of the newbies as some form of hazing, but—”

“Like hell I’d do that,” Iwaizumi barks. “Allow the kids to handle sensitive information on people like the Karasuno Group? Over my dead body.”

“…So I suppose there’s no point in feeling sorry for him when he’s so _passionate_ about files,” Matsukawa teases. “Are you going to fuck a filing cabinet, Hajime? Maybe get off to sorting things in alphabetical order?”

“Takahiro!” Iwaizumi calls, and Hanamaki appears from around the corner behind the bar, drying a glass. He offers Iwaizumi a raised eyebrow. “Please get some alcohol into these miserable creatures so they can focus on getting drunk and I can focus on keeping our sorry excuse for a yakuza group from falling apart.”

“On it, boss,” Hanamaki assents with a nod.

“I’m the boss,” Oikawa grumbles, but brightens as soon as Hanamaki places his usual whiskey in front of him. Iwaizumi carefully disentangles himself from the trainwreck of his comrades and slinks into the back room to work on budgeting and surveillance reports of the Karasuno Group’s new recruits.

As much as the senior members of Seijou may talk shit about him, Iwaizumi really doesn’t mind doing the busy work for their group. There’s a certain power in sifting through information, in keeping himself current with the details of rival yakuza groups. And then, after he’s picked through the raw data, he’ll deliver it to Oikawa, and that’s when it’s all over. Oikawa has the skill to analyze the material and deduce the weak points of their rivals, sniff out their most sensitive spots.

And once a weakness has been located, there’s nothing to stop Seijou from honing in on it and striking mercilessly.

So no, Iwaizumi doesn’t mind doing the paperwork, nor does he trust anyone else to do it. He’s actually getting somewhere, too, prepared to burn the midnight oil for as long as necessary to synthesize the reports, when Oikawa lopes into the room, smooth as spider’s silk and as deadly as a black widow. Iwaizumi makes a concentrated effort to ignore him.

There’s something to be said for being the right hand of a mob boss—Iwaizumi is instinctually in tune to Oikawa’s movements, like it or not. In a life or death situation he needs to read Oikawa’s slightest shifts in stance as if they were neon flashing signs, to be able to take commands without words or signals visible to their enemies. In battle, this ability has saved them more times than Iwaizumi cares to count. Outside of battle, it’s just another device for Oikawa to torture him with.

Deft fingers glide across the surface of the wall as Oikawa paces slow around the room. He’s not looking at Iwaizumi the same way Iwaizumi isn’t looking at him—they’ve focused their every sense on each other like clockwork while appearing to be blithely unaware of the other. The pads of Oikawa’s fingers trace the edge of a stolen painting, touching it like it’s his territory. Like everything he saw with the touch of his hand belonged to him once and forever. The memory of Oikawa’s hand on his shoulder rises to Iwaizumi’s mind, unbidden, and he shivers.

The sound of ice rattling against glass brings Iwaizumi out of his thoughts. Oikawa’s finger has migrated to swirl his whiskey absentmindedly. The digit slips from the glass to the delicate pink of Oikawa’s extended tongue and lips. He sucks on his finger, letting it go with a pop. And, despite the fact that there are no windows in the room, Oikawa’s gaze is fixed sharply into the distance, intent on something much more important than the far wall. Iwaizumi knows what that distant, vicious look means. He shifts the report he’s in the middle of reading higher to block out any view of Oikawa, ensuring that he ruffles the papers.

Once again, Oikawa’s instigation is deflected. “Ouch, Iwa-chan,” he half-laughs from much closer than he should be. Iwaizumi shifts the paper down again to reveal Oikawa leaning against the desk with the smile that crinkles his eyes pleasantly. Iwaizumi isn’t quick enough to hide the dart of his eyes to where Oikawa’s ass presses against the desk, making a statement of his own. “I can tell when I’m not wanted,” Oikawa sighs. Then, in defiance of his words, he hops onto the desk, humming just loud enough to disrupt Iwaizumi’s work.

“Did you really get bored of Issei and Takahiro so quickly?” Iwaizumi grumbles. “They’re supposed to keep you out of my hair.” He highlights a passage in the report, pen wobbling when Oikawa laughs and ruffles his hair.

“I can’t believe Iwa-chan doesn’t like having me around,” Oikawa giggles. “Why not?”

Iwaizumi smacks him smartly on his head with the paper and snarls, “If you don’t let me do my work, I’ll allow the Karasuno’s fledglings to march right up to our base and carry out their attempt on your life. Or rather, their attempt on _my_ life, because god knows I’m the only one who does any work around here!” He’s probably a little too snappy, even to a childhood friend, but Oikawa just pouts and lays back across the stacks of paper like a cat.

“You’re so mean all the time,” he whines, still petulant. “Where’s the respect I deserve, huh?”

“Maybe if you help me with the stack of papers you’re lying on, I’ll take you for ice cream later,” Iwaizumi deadpans.

Oikawa squints. “I don’t think that’s the definition of respect.”

“Alright, how about this?” Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow at him. “What if you stop messing around all the time with this careless smile on your face and lead by example?” It’s not a very fair observation, if Iwaizumi is honest with himself. Oikawa is inspiring and highly intelligent, and behind that vapid exterior is a cool and calculating predator—a conductor directing the actions of the other yakuza groups around him as if it were according to plan. (And it _was_ according to plan. There was very little at this point that their enemies had that they didn’t know about and couldn’t counter.)

Iwaizumi isn’t stressed from work, either. If anything, paperwork calmed him. He should easily be able to pacify Oikawa, not rile him up. And yet…

_(His blood thrums fast and wild under his skin, so close to the surface that it might make him flushed with adrenaline, so easy to spill.)_

“You don’t like this?” Oikawa asks, soft like he could read the shift in Iwaizumi’s thought process, the realization that he had stepped out of line. “You don’t like my smile and laugh, even when I’m stepping on some scum that dared to challenge us?” _Us._ Iwaizumi swallows.

Oikawa locks his gaze on Iwaizumi who suddenly can’t meet his eyes. Oikawa’s still splayed across the desk, his suit wrinkled and tie crooked, but looking as deadly as if he had a handgun pressed point blank against Iwaizumi’s forehead. “What _would_ you like, then, Hajime?” Oikawa asks, the familiar name jolting Iwaizumi to attention.

Oikawa sits up, swinging his body around the desk so that he’s facing Iwaizumi, leg close enough to kick at him. “What do you want me to be, huh?” Oikawa asks again. “Since you don’t seem to like this persona at all.” The light tone of voice he had been speaking to Iwaizumi in earlier evaporates, taking with it all the moisture in Iwaizumi’s throat. When he swallows, it is nervous and dry.

“What’ll it be?”

Iwaizumi parts his lips, but no words come out. To clear his throat would break the spell Oikawa had cast with the shift in his demeanor, would upset the precarious balance between them. To stay in the silence would make Oikawa bored. He grits his teeth but manages to finally, _finally_ say, “You’re fine as you are, Oikawa. You know it, and so do the rest of us. We wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“Oh, but you would,” Oikawa asserts, leaning forward, pressing into Iwaizumi’s space. “You, personally, Hajime.”

Sweat drips down the back of Iwaizumi’s neck. The harsh velvet of Oikawa’s voice has his eyes darting and straightening his back, doing a poor job of disguising his squirming. “Oikawa—” He starts.

“So familiar with your superior,” Oikawa tuts. “Can’t you tell when you’re in deep shit, Hajime?”

Iwaizumi’s throat tightens even further. “…Boss,” he amends quietly.

“Louder,” Oikawa orders.

“I’m sorry, _boss_ ,” Iwaizumi grinds out, cheeks aflame.

“That’s better,” Oikawa purrs. “Shame is such a nice look on you, Iwa-chan. I should humiliate you more often.” Iwaizumi reflexively opens his mouth to snap back, but Oikawa doesn’t let him. “You know what I think, Iwa-chan?”

He shifts his body in towards Iwaizumi, swinging a leg over Iwaizumi so he’s sitting in front of him on the desk, legs spread. Iwaizumi’s eyes catch on his crotch, bared to him, not swift enough to look away. Instead, he’s forced to look up at Oikawa instead of down and away. Oikawa has his hands clasped together, leaning his chin on them, a calculating smile on his face.

“I think you like it when I go cold,” he murmurs knowingly. “You like it when I’m merciless. You like when I effortlessly dominate our enemies. I think…” He lets out a huff of a laugh. “I think you want me to turn some of that…power…on you.”

Iwaizumi stops breathing, eyes wide.

“You want to be my little bitch, don’t you, Hajime?” Oikawa whispers.

Oikawa slides off the desk and into Iwaizumi’s lap, slow as a reaper coming to steal Iwaizumi’s last breath. “You like it when I fuck you,” Oikawa notes lightly. “It’s nice when you’re fucking me, but you always come harder when I’m inside you. Your throat jumps at my every act of violence. Do I terrify you, Hajime?”

Iwaizumi’s lips tremble but his words do not. “You are a king, made for greatness. It’s only natural your right hand would want to serve you.”

Oikawa laughs. “Oh, sure, sure. That’s why you push me around and disrespect my authority.” Iwaizumi grimaces, but Oikawa shakes his head. “No, no—I like it. Banter with you is always the most fun. But I’d be an idiot not to catch the nervous jump of your eyes when you purposefully push too hard.”

He’s an ember in Iwaizumi’s lap, burning wherever they connect, and his hands are playful as they brush through his hair. But there’s nothing warm or soft when he grinds hard against Iwaizumi and knots his fingers in his hair, yanking Iwaizumi’s ear close to his lips to whisper:

“So I’ll ask you again, Hajime. Do you want to be my little bitch?”

Iwaizumi’s breath and heart flutters. “ _Make me_ ,” he hisses.

Oikawa lets him go so he can throw his head back, laughing. “Oh, Hajime! To think you could be fun after all! Is that a challenge?” Oikawa’s eyes sparkle with _hunger_.

“I’m not going to submit to you, _boss_ ,” Iwaizumi spits. He grins. “Not unless you can break me down and make me yours.”

“I accept,” Oikawa says lightly, hopping off Iwaizumi. “I hope you know, Hajime, that I won’t go easy on you just because I like you. I’ll be pulling out all the stops.” He starts to pace again, but this time his step is light with excitement—Oikawa really _is_ thrilled.

He halts at the far side of the desk and smacks his palms against the wood, digging his nails in ever so slightly. He tilts his head, baring the hard, pale line of his neck. “Shall we begin?”

Iwaizumi smiles. “Do your worst.” The smile holds until Oikawa fishes out a collar from the inside pocket of his suit. He whistles cheerfully and spins it around his finger, noting the pallor Iwaizumi’s skin with glee.

“Do you like it, Hajime?” He asks, innocent.

“When did you…” Iwaizumi lets the question trail off weakly. He touches his neck without thinking.

“I’ve had it for a while now,” Oikawa says with a shrug. “Got the measurements when I fit my hands around your neck that last time we fucked. Clever, aren’t I? I always wondered what you would look like, collared and chained up for me, helpless. And now I’ll finally get to see it.” He moves forward with purpose.

Iwaizumi, who had up until that point been sitting with his knees pressed together and hands curled into fists, tightens his posture at Oikawa’s approach. Oikawa smiles at him, but it’s not the sugary-sweet, fake smile he put on as a mask. This was the slow burn, the rich caramel and dark chocolate smile that held behind it a world of sin and desire. Oikawa’s eyes are dilated. Iwaizumi imagines his must be too.

When Oikawa nudges apart his legs, Iwaizumi doesn’t even fight, letting his muscles go lax.

“Oh, what’s this?” Oikawa giggles. “You’re already getting hard and we haven’t even begun.”

Iwaizumi bears the flush of red up his neck with as much dignity as he can, given the way Oikawa was eyeing the tent in his pants. He locks his jaw shut as Oikawa begins to spin the collar again, but from this close, Iwaizumi can pick out the details. It’s nothing too fancy—leather on the outside, pierced with silver studs, and a softer inner layer. Iwaizumi can almost hear Oikawa’s voice ringing in his head: _it’s plain, just like you, Iwa-chan! Should’ve collared and chained a mutt like you earlier, you filthy…_ Iwaizumi’s knees twitch inwards against Oikawa’s legs unconsciously, and Iwaizumi tuts at his lack of self-control.

“Well,” Oikawa says in an irritatingly smug voice. “If you’re that eager.”

He backs away from Iwaizumi (again with the in-and-out, never enough to satisfy Iwaizumi) and moves behind him. From this position, Iwaizumi can’t see Oikawa loosen the collar, only hear the occasional clink of metal or pull of leather. When Oikawa’s fingers brush his neck, he jumps and his legs snap closed.

“Easy there,” Oikawa murmurs, breath puffing against Iwaizumi’s ear. “That’s a good boy.”

The praise makes Iwaizumi flinch again, but in a good way—the name goes right to his groin, making his cock jump. Oikawa settles the collar around his neck slowly, enough for Iwaizumi to really feel the soft material brush his neck, feel the cold metal inserts, feel the gradual tightness as Oikawa pulls it just so that Iwaizumi can feel every swallow, all the way down.

And then, he hears the soft tinkle of a bell.

His immediate reaction is disbelief, but upon feeling up the collar, Iwaizumi brushes the tiny bell at the front of his throat, innocent and cutesy, and absolutely Oikawa’s style.

“ _Oikawa…_ ” Iwaizumi growls in warning.

“You will address me as boss or Oikawa-san,” Oikawa says, so sharp it cuts Iwaizumi off mid-growl. “I don’t like scary pets,” he adds after a pause. “I like them cute and subservient, on their knees in front of me.” Iwaizumi feels those words shudder down his spine.

And just to add insult to injury, Iwaizumi hears a tiny _click_ and Oikawa is dangling a keyring in front of him, from where he had definitely just _locked_ Iwaizumi’s collar. “Oh my,” Oikawa mock-gasps. “I do hope Mattsun or Makki-chan don’t come walking in here by mistake. Imagine how _scandalized_ they would be to see you collared with your legs spread.”

He leans in close. “Or maybe,” he whispers, “they would want to fuck you, too. I wonder if I should let them, after I’m done with you. I’ll tame the mutt then let them play with you all they want.”

Iwaizumi’s ears _burn._ “Put your hands behind your back,” Oikawa laughs knowingly.

Iwaizumi shouldn’t be surprised, but he still grinds his teeth when Oikawa clicks the handcuffs around his wrists and locks them as well. “Don’t look so grim, Hajime,” Oikawa tuts, coming back around the front. “I was sorely tempted to make everything hot pink but I was thinking of you when I chose black.”

“At this point, I don’t think you could humiliate me much more,” Iwaizumi grumbles.

“You’re right.” Oikawa nods sagely. “At this point all your dignity is gone, right? So I guess it won’t be hard at all for you to beg for me.”

“I don’t beg,” Iwaizumi growls.

“I never said you had to,” Oikawa points out. “But nevermind that. For now, since you’re all nicely chained up for me, how about we play a little game? Let’s play cops and robbers! I’m the cop, and you’re the robber I arrested.” He covers his mouth to laugh. “It’s practice for if you ever _really_ get arrested for _really_ stealing something! You get to learn a valuable lesson.”

“If anyone’s going to get caught, it—”

“It’s Kindaichi, I know,” Oikawa cuts him off. “That doesn’t really matter though.” He narrows his eyes thoughtfully. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions. How you respond to them will dictate how nice the rest of this night is for you…or not so nice.” He hops up on the desk, crossing his legs and slouching back, casual. “But first, spread your legs again like a good slut.”

Iwaizumi swallows, but complies slowly, spreading his legs once more. He eyes Oikawa warily, unsure where this is going. Oikawa laughs. “Cute~” he chirps in a sing-song voice. “Hajime’s cock is always so adorable.”

Iwaizumi’s mouth is open to protest at once, but Oikawa’s expression sharpens and he snaps forward, reaching his leg out to press his boot hard against Iwaizumi’s crotch. The pressure and pain-pleasure chokes the words right off Iwaizumi’s tongue and he ends up sputtering weakly. “Don’t close your legs,” he orders, a commandment. He props his elbow up on his knee and rests his cheek in the palm of his hand. “Now, where were we?” Iwaizumi makes another strangled noise.

“Right, rules,” Oikawa says conversationally. “Rule one: do not speak unless spoken to. I don’t care about how embarrassing this all is for you, Hajime. Unless something is really wrong,” he gives Iwaizumi a significant look, “you won’t speak. Rule two: speak clearly. When your boss talks to you, it’s only right to reply appropriately, right? And finally, rule three: keep your legs open. You’re a big, strong boy Hajime. It shouldn’t be too hard for you to do a simple task. ‘Kay?”

He throws a gentle smile at Iwaizumi that doesn’t at all fit the mischief in his words and actions. Iwaizumi musters a half-hearted glare. Oikawa clicks his tongue and grinds his boot down harder for just a moment, but it makes Iwaizumi gasp. “Rule one,” he tuts. “Answer me, Hajime. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” he bites out.

“Good,” Oikawa says, and rubs his boot gently against Iwaizumi’s erection. Iwaizumi shifts, half embarrassment, half helpless squirming.

Oikawa’s foot stills. “How does your collar feel?”

“…Good,” Iwaizumi decides after a moment of pained deliberation.

Oikawa’s boot presses down again and Iwaizumi whimpers. “You can do better than that,” Oikawa murmurs.

“It feels…right,” he says softly. “It’s just tight enough. The leather won’t chafe painfully.” He rolls his shoulders, red creeping up his neck as the bell tinkles. “Feels like I belong to you.”

“Mmhmm,” Oikawa purrs. “That’s right. And how does my foot feel?”

“It feels— _ah!_ ” Iwaizumi breaks off when Oikawa starts grinding his boot against Iwaizumi in earnest, undulating the pressure and alternating hard and soft, muddling Iwaizumi’s mind too much to respond properly. “I-it feels—hh _hh_ —”

“Speak up,” Oikawa chirps, but doesn’t stop moving, laughter at the corners of his mouth.

Iwaizumi’s face _burns_. “Fuck you,” he spits softly. “It feels fucking incredible and _horrible_ , you tease—”

“And what if I got you off like this?” Oikawa muses. “What if I just kept working you until you came in your pants, entire body shaking and your head thrown back? I think I’d like to see your head thrown back and hear your bell tinkle. You’d groan and whine so much, wouldn’t you, Hajime? But you know, even after you come, I won’t stop. Your pants will be soaked and sticky and I’ll still be grinding against you until you cry and it takes all your willpower not to shut your legs. I’m quite confident in my ability to reduce you to a sniveling mess.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Iwaizumi pants, mouth hanging open. His legs tremble but he reads the warning in Oikawa’s silken voice and curls hooks his feet around the legs of the chair to force them open.

“Do you want that, Hajime?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Iwaizumi groans. “I want it, please, boss.”

Oikawa’s boot leaves him completely. “Too bad. Don’t wanna.”

Iwaizumi opens and closes his mouth in incredulity, but bites back any kind of response. Oikawa just watches him for a moment, eyes bright while Iwaizumi sweats and shakes. He’s quiet and observant, taking his time eating up Iwaizumi’s helplessness, from toes to head. “…Tell you what,” Oikawa says finally, “I’ll make you a better offer, since I like your subservient begging so much.”

 _Dammit,_ Iwaizumi thinks. _I ended up begging after all._

“How about _I_ get on the floor, settled between your knees, and blow you?” He offers innocently. Iwaizumi’s traitorous cock twitches. “After all the torment I put you through, don’t you think you deserve a warm mouth around you? A tongue dancing over your length, satisfying you? I’ll watch you the whole time, and you’ll watch me, my lips around your cock. If you don’t break eye contact I’ll even let you come. On. My face.” He punctuates each word with the press of his foot hard against Iwaizumi.

“Is that a decent compromise?” Oikawa asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Please,” Iwaizumi rasps. “I want you so bad.”

“Well. When you put it that way.” Oikawa’s entire expression is sly, not to be trusted, but Iwaizumi doesn’t _care_ because he’s sliding off the desk and between Iwaizumi’s knees, shuffling forward until Iwaizumi can practically feel each puff of breath along his legs. He certainly can feel it when Oikawa’s hands settle on either side of his thighs, thumbs stroking in, teasing his inner thighs. The sudden heat draws a low groan from Iwaizumi’s throat.

Oikawa’s fingers are an art form all on their own. Strong and slender, pale and flawless as the rest of his skin. Each one tipped in a perfectly curved pink fingernail and a half-moon of white short enough not to bother Oikawa but also long enough to scratch the eyes out of someone who displeased him. Every inch of Oikawa’s body screamed royalty. And all that royalty was centimeters from sucking Iwaizumi off like an eager little slut, ready to please.

Only, this was Oikawa. Nothing ever went according to Iwaizumi’s expectations.

He pulls down Iwaizumi’s zipper tantalizingly slow, feral grin on his face the entire time. Iwaizumi sucks in a deep breath and surges forward, pulling at his cuffed hands in an attempt to get Oikawa to touch him. But Oikawa dances away, laughing, even when Iwaizumi resorts to jerking his hips up.

“Down boy,” Oikawa purrs. “All in good time. I take care of my pets.”

When his fingers finally deign to caress the fabric of Iwaizumi’s underwear, this time they only press harder when Iwaizumi’s gasps and arches into the touch. He’s sensitive and leaking from Oikawa’s teasing. That fact does not escape Oikawa’s notice.

He doesn’t waste time on teasing further, but frees Iwaizumi’s cock. It bobs up against Iwaizumi’s shirt, red and dripping. Iwaizumi fervently wishes he could feel any sense of indignity, but it’s impossible to feel more than red-hot hunger when the each of Oikawa’s breaths brush soft against his sensitive skin.

“Please,” Iwaizumi hears himself say, almost an out-of-body experience. “Oikawa-san, _please_.”

Oikawa licks a stripe up his cock, tongue pink and pointed, and Iwaizumi yelps. His legs tense, scooting just a fraction inwards, but the jump of Oikawa’s eyebrow stills them. He hears his inhales—ragged and shallow—matched with the rapid beat of his heart. Oikawa doesn’t let up. He sucks on the head of Iwaizumi’s cock, swirling his lips around it and letting go with a wet _pop_ that sounds like a gunshot.

He never puts his mouth around Iwaizumi, though. Oikawa teases, flicking his tongue out in nonsensical patterns along Iwaizumi’s length, licking stripes and crosses that have Iwaizumi wishing he could get on his knees and pray for mercy. He pants over Iwaizumi’s skin—wet and hot as Iwaizumi’s cock, and never failing to make him writhe. Every now and then, Oikawa does that _thing_ again, sucking on his head like a lollipop.

And then, he stops.

Oikawa leans back, yawning. Iwaizumi tries to make sense of why he’s _stopping_ through a lust-blind haze. “Why…why did you _stop?_ ” he asks, genuinely baffled.

“Got bored,” Oikawa replies, shrugging.

“ _I was going to come!_ ” Iwaizumi cries out.

“And who said you were allowed to do that?” Oikawa counters, hard as steel. “Besides, I really like the way you look when you’re on the brink of coming.” He _giggles_. “You have a line of drool down your chin and your neck and shoulders are flushed.” Iwaizumi sputters, but there’s nothing he can do to change any of that, bound like he is.

“And of course, your cock is so cute,” Oikawa coos. “Just look at it!” He reaches out to fucking _tickle Iwaizumi’s penis_. “It’s so short and fat! And it gets nice and red when I blow you. Mmm, yeah…Hajime’s cock is my favorite.” He leans forward to kiss it.

“If you like it so much, why don’t you finish the job before it falls off?” Iwaizumi grinds out.

“Bah, don’t be ridiculous,” Oikawa dismisses him. “It won’t fall off.” He pulls out his phone nonchalantly and Iwaizumi’s heart sinks like a stone.

“What are you going to do with that?” He asks nervously.

“A souvenir for this moment,” Oikawa explains cheerfully, holding up the phone’s camera to Iwaizumi. “Say ‘fuck me,’ Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi can only watch, horrified, as Oikawa snaps pictures of him, even including a selfie with that stupid peace sign pose he loved so much. “I can’t forget the star of the show, though,” Oikawa notes. He zooms in the camera to take close-up photos of Iwaizumi’s cock.

“Don’t you dare close your legs, Hajime,” Oikawa warns. “If you want to come any time this century, you’ll obey me.” Despairing, Iwaizumi keeps them spread, watching helplessly as Oikawa takes pictures of him, drawing smiley faces and arms on his penis with the phone’s photo editor. The whole time, Oikawa shrieks with glee.

“Look at how cute this bow is!” Oikawa exclaims, showing the screen to Iwaizumi. Noticing the look of hopelessness on Iwaizumi’s face, Oikawa lowers the phone. “Aw, I’ve been quite harsh to you, haven’t I? But you’ve been so good for me, bearing your humiliation so nobly. For that, I will reward you.” And, without further ado, Oikawa drops his phone and wraps his mouth around Iwaizumi’s entire length.

Iwaizumi _screams_.

His mouth is so wet and warm and _soft_ , all around Iwaizumi, setting all his nerves alight with pleasure. His legs snap together without his consent, wrapping around Oikawa’s shoulders and pressing him even further into Iwaizumi’s crotch. Oikawa makes no move to stop him but moves with him, nestling his face into the dark curls of hair and eyes never leaving Iwaizumi’s.

Iwaizumi swears Oikawa is smiling.

True to his word, Oikawa pulls away from Iwaizumi as he starts to convulse. With one final, pathetic whine Iwaizumi comes all over Oikawa’s face, flecks of cum catching on his lip and eyebrow, a long line trialing from his cheeks across his nose. Starry-eyed and coming down from his high, Iwaizumi has the fleeting thought that Oikawa looks nearly angelic, stained with his come and blinking owlishly, a mysterious smile on his face.

Oikawa licks his lips, chasing the taste of Iwaizumi’s come. “I always take care of my pets,” he repeats smugly, noting the heaving of Iwaizumi’s chest and the way his neck lolls to the side, worn out. Standing up, Oikawa only shifts closer, sliding into Iwaizumi’s lap.

He swipes a finger across his cheek, examining the cum on his finger before offering it to Iwaizumi. “Clean up your mess,” he orders softly. Too fucked out to care, Iwaizumi accepts the finger, swirling his tongue around the digit and sucking on it before releasing it. Pleased, Oikawa wipes up every spot of cum off his face, delivering it right back to Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi manages to only wrinkle his nose slightly at the taste, dutifully cleaning Oikawa off.

Oikawa hums happily, pulling the key to Iwaizumi’s handcuffs out from the pocket of his jacket. Iwaizumi watches lazily as Oikawa reaches behind him, the cuffs clicking open and freeing his hands. Slowly, gauging Oikawa’s reaction, Iwaizumi brings his hands around to settle on Oikawa’s hips. Oikawa raises an eyebrow but doesn’t object to the touch. Before Iwaizumi can do anything more, though, Oikawa is shifting off of him, slow enough that Iwaizumi can follow, rising out of the chair to back Oikawa up against the desk.

Oikawa’s hands tangle in the spiky mess of Iwaizumi’s hair, fluffing it up enough that there’s no way Iwaizumi will escape this office without knowing stares. For once, Oikawa wears a neutral expression, mapping out the details of Iwaizumi’s face with quick glances before settling on his lips. It’s an invitation if Iwaizumi’s ever seen one.

He kisses Oikawa gently, still floating with the heady feeling a really nice orgasm. His softness catches Oikawa by surprise and he makes a tiny noise that disappears between their lips. Iwaizumi isn’t so immune to Oikawa that he can fight down the smile that curls the corners of his mouth up, happy to catch Oikawa off-guard for once.

But as much appreciation as Oikawa had for soft kisses, he is after something harder, fingers curling into claws, sealing their mouths together so tightly Iwaizumi has to pant through his nose to get breath. Oikawa doesn’t let him pull away—he pushes after Iwaizumi, tongue tracing the shapes of his lips and the backs of his teeth. When their tongues finally curl around each other in the no man’s land of their matched mouths, both men groan lightly at the sensation.

In that instant of weakness, Oikawa flips their places, knocking Iwaizumi against the desk and pulling away to grin savagely. “Did you forget, Hajime? I haven’t gotten to come yet. It’s my turn now.” …Well, Iwaizumi can’t say he’s ever been wise enough to avoid Oikawa’s traps. (He did fall for his boss after all—taking Oikawa’s bait hook, line, and sinker, allowing himself to be reeled straight into Oikawa’s loving if slightly possessive arms.)

“Turn around and put your hands on the desk,” Oikawa orders, voice smooth as satin.

 _Ah. So it’s like this,_ Iwaizumi thinks. Oikawa _did_ love to wrap himself around Iwaizumi when they fucked, strong and warm and so very present the entire time, as if Iwaizumi would forget who was pleasuring him.

“You’re relentless,” Iwaizumi groans, languid and tired from the blowjob.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be good for you, too,” Oikawa assures him.

“That can’t mean anything good,” Iwaizumi mutters under his breath.

“What was that, Hajime?” Oikawa asks, voice too close to Iwaizumi’s ear. He slips off Iwaizumi’s already unzipped pants off, followed by his underwear.

“I said, oh goody, now you’re going t— _gah_!” iwiazumi breaks off at the feeling of Oikawa’s fingers against his cock, _sliding something onto him_.

“I’m sorry, didn’t quite catch that. What am I going to do to you, exactly?” Oikawa asks sweetly. His fingers are cold—wet, Iwaizumi identifies, with what can only be lube.

“ _Is that a_ —?” He chokes out.

“A cock ring?” Oikawa purrs. “Well. It’s one of them.”

“One of them,” Iwaizumi deadpans. Oikawa is still sliding the damn thing down his cock. “What—”

“It’s well worth you current discomfort, Hajime, I assure you,” Oikawa says. “Don’t you trust me?” And despite it all, Iwaizumi does.

“Good _boy_ ,” Oikawa croons into Iwaizumi’s ear. “Your loyalty is well noted. How far would you go for me? I’d like to know.” Deft fingers slip Iwaizumi’s balls one by one through the ring. Iwaizumi twitches, involuntarily, and makes a guttural noise.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Oikawa tuts. “Can’t have you getting hard just yet. It’ll be real tough to slide the other on if you’re hard.”

“You’re talking dirty in my ear,” Iwaizumi hisses, gritting his teeth. “ _Your hand is on me._ ”

“Try your hardest for me, won’t you?” Oikawa sighs, making no effort at all to refrain from sounding sensual. Iwaizumi feels the second ring slide on, this one tighter than the other, and he bites his lip, drowning out the tickle of Oikawa’s touch with the pain.

The ring fits snugly at the base of his cock. All of Iwaizumi’s nerves are wired, every inch of his skin alert. He knows, just from the tightness, that these… _rings_ were going to be a source of suffering for him. Oikawa huffs a laugh into the back of his neck and strokes Iwaizumi’s cock gently.

Iwaizumi _swears_. His entire length is sensitive to even a feather-light touch, and Oikawa’s strokes feel like electricity shooting through his veins. He’s hard in a matter of moments, but Oikawa doesn’t stop touching him until he’s panting and the head of his cock bobs against his stomach.

“That should keep you to attention nicely,” Oikawa says, pleased, and then his fingers move to Iwaizumi’s ass.

He jumps at the first press of Oikawa’s fingers against his entrance, as they are once more cold with lube. Oikawa eases each one in slowly, kneading Iwaizumi’s ass with his free hand and murmuring praises in his ear that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. And through it all, Iwaizumi’s cock never softens, the rings doing their job to keep him sensitive and _weak_ , whimpering every now and then when Oikawa’s fingers dance close to _that_ spot because _god_ does he want to come.

“Don’t,” Oikawa hisses, as if reading his mind. “Only when I’m inside of you, my cum spilling out of your ass. And then you’ll let me watch you.”

Iwaizumi groans.

But Oikawa would be lying if he said he wasn’t compromised as well. He doesn’t even press into Iwaizumi at first, just grinds against his ass, breathing heavily and pressing Iwaizumi’s cheeks against his cock for more friction. “Mmm,” Oikawa sighs. “I love it when you’re pressed against me.”

“Then imagine how good it’d feel to be inside,” Iwaizumi mutters, but Oikawa catches it.

“Oh?” He asks. A single finger tickles and teases around Iwaizumi’s entrance. “Did you just say you wanted me inside?”

Iwaizumi clicks his tongue. “I—”

“Beg for it,” Oikawa orders.

“I…I need you inside me,” Iwaizumi starts, voice shaking. “I want the length of your cock to fill me, fucking—fucking _creampie_ me, I don’t care, I just want you to fuck me like an animal, like you love to do, and just _make me come_.”

Oikawa isn’t gentle when he thrusts in, but Iwaizumi is ready. Oikawa fucks like he kills—overbearingly, mercilessly, and hungrily. He crowds around Iwaizumi, forcing him against the desk so that Oikawa can press his chest flat against Iwaizumi’s back, arms straddling Iwaizumi’s arms. His breath is low and fast alongside Iwaizumi’s, head tucked over Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Iwaizumi knows Oikawa won’t last.

His thrusts get faster the further he gets along, slamming his thighs against Iwaizumi’s until Iwaizumi is sure they’ll be sore and red. When he hits _that_ point, the point of blindness to anything but pleasure, Oikawa drives deep into Iwaizumi, aiming at his prostrate and grappling for the collar.

Iwaizumi swears, although they sound like cries, alongside Oikawa’s yells, his fearlessly loud calls of _oh yes_ and _you’re so tight, baby_ and _gonna come all over you_. His grip around the collar pulls it tight against Iwaizumi’s throat, choking him enough that he sees stars and the pressure in his groin reaches a boiling point. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Iwaizumi remembers Oikawa’s orders but those are so trivial to him when Oikawa hits his sweet spot with every other thrust.

Iwaizumi knows when Oikawa comes before he does. There’s an explosion of mildly uncomfortable warmth inside of him, and then Oikawa lets out the most lewd moan Iwaizumi has ever heard. Something warm drips down Iwaizumi’s leg and he whines for permission.

“Go, baby,” Oikawa breathes. “Show me what that fat little cock can do.”

Iwaizumi does. His orgasm pulses through his entire body, rippling down his spine and shooting out cum in almost a projectile fashion once, twice… _five_ times, the longest and hardest he’d ever come. Iwaizumi slumps against the desk, wet and worn out, Oikawa’s cock slipping from him easily.

Oikawa flops back against the desk next to him. He sighs pleasantly. “That was a _good_ fuck,” he decides.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi has to admit, fighting down a smile.

“And you got even bigger too, did you see?” Oikawa’s eyes dance excitedly. Iwaizumi didn’t, but he imagines Oikawa’s eyes were on his dick the entire time. Disgusting. “It’s so cute,” he sighs happily. “Next time we use the rings, I’ll suck you off with them so I can get a closer look.”

“Next time?” Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow.

“Please.” Oikawa rolls his eyes. “As if that didn’t feel _great._ ” …He does have a point.

“ _And_ ,” Oikawa adds, “next time, we’ll do it on that bar Makki loves so much.”

Iwaizumi nods thoughtfully. “Deal.” He pauses, frowns. “Now, would you take this goddamn collar off of me?”


End file.
